PursuingTheCerberus

Pursuing The Cerberus [1994.] A shipwreck of fifteen. My mind spinning naked, rebellious wonders, clinging needfully to tattered fringes of teenage wasteland— a hologram only vital for the young. Innocent soul, wet ears, burrowed in books or dancing with ghosts privately upon paper during secret evenings fueled by an inescapable craving— CREATION. Just beginning a descent into the simulacrum of egg shell juvenilia, the inception of worlds where a young boy finally felt empowered, not shy, awkward, scared or taunted. Skewed by school, my puerile cortex   still believed poetry a dusty beast only the most golden

Sleeping Children Are Still Flying red wagons pulled by snow owls like a chariot across the sun, through clouds, climbing ladders to a moon of Swiss cheese where dark craters are filled with raspberry and cherry shaved ice, hanging like stalactites above root beer sundae ponds. Forts constructed with dining room chairs, pillows, sheets are protected by a moat of lava, and nineteen catapult's to keep dragons at bay. The backyard is an ever-changing landscape, sometimes desert, sometimes forest, or ball field, and all the surrounding trees contain robotic ravens with fully functioning laser firing eyeballs to keep the bad people out-- It

The world is quiet at this earliest of hours. My cat lounges atop the writing desk pushing a pen around until it falls to the ground. Having no concept of time, she is awake only because I am. Difficult to fathom an existence of such profundity and freedom, but for the length of a poem, an indulgent duration where I see the universe through a detailed lens, like a horologist hunched over an antique watch. ============================ COPYRIGHT 2014, William Barker All my work has copyrights with the Library of Congress. No usage without my permission regardless of circumstance.